reasons to create

I create so I won’t forget the density of a moment, the richness of colours and emotions growing in the cracks of everyday life’s grey concrete.

Sometimes a moment is so beautiful, so intense, so wild and raw that the idea of forgetting its fullness scares me. I wish I was able to capture it in pencil, paints, or a brilliant photograph, knowing I will fail. A picture would never do the multidimensional magic of a moment any fraction of justice.

I create in the hope that others will take the time to understand the way I perceive the world, the weird ways of my inner cosmos.

I don’t see the world the way most people around me do. What they deem beautiful I perceive as sensory overload, loud and clashing and evoking a bad taste in my mouth; while what is wonderful to me in their eyes is trash, boring, mundane, or even so small and trival they don’t notice it at all. I call it the ability to see “the beauty inbetween”, to “create magic” in my mind. Taking pictures of small wonders is my try to guide other people’s view, direct their gaze to the invisible lines my mind draws, connecting thought, sensation, trees and stars and summer hay.

I create to remind people of the beauty that lies in the simple, ordinary things.

The beauty I see can’t be bought from mass-producing factories – at least in most cases – and can’t be foretold in terms of shape, colour, or perfection. Beauty is what happens in tiny corners, in the hands of a child, a foggy morning, between dewy blades of grass and ashy rocks. Beauty isn’t static, visible, but a warm, filling, overwhelmingly enveloping atmosphere of grace, the thankfulness for a friend’s genuine smile and the smell of fresh bread.

I create to deal with personal hardships – with a troubled past, a confusing present, the scary uncertainty of the near future.

Being able to create reminds me that I’m still alive, that I’m not completely broken, because I’m still able to see beauty and feel love and learn friendship. Writing is the way to connect isolated objects, dreams, ideas; and it is the goal, the reason to keep my mind open to the world, the things and people in it. The process of composition, of taking a photograph is meditation and the result the source for new contemplation. I write promises to myself, reminders of feelings, solutions and inconsistencies and chaos.

I create to feel. I create because I feel. I create so others will feel with me. I create to conserve a moment to feel it anew in the future.

 

~

Originally written as a response to To be an Artist… on DeviantArt; then the original author challenged me to write it out. The parts in italics are from my original comment, the other lines are my thoughts from today. If you are interested in our little discussion about this longer version, please visit my post on DeviantArt http://fav.me/d87ylfe.

Everybody could write poetry

Everybody could write poetry

but few do so

most people don’t trust themselves to pour this bittersweet gold of honey from their lips

afraid the world would hear nothing but the stickiness they feel between their teeth when trying

afraid it could clog their nine to five pens

afraid of being called dreamers.

When did dreaming become undesirable?

When did we forget the ancient art of piecing thoughts together into a flaming mosaic, the art of pouring this honey into patterns on the hard-won bread to make the tired and weary hungry again for life and laughter? When did we become scared of emotion deeper than the cavity of our dry mouths?

We don’t win our bread by touching the soil anymore, we don’t remember the stings accompanying the harvest of the last honey of the year, we don’t know how to wait for the right seasons anymore. We are lost, strangers to our world, merely taking whatever is provided by endless acres of supermarkets, grocery stores, vending machines. Consuming in haste, eating on the way to work to earn another year’s worth of bread, and yet not taking the time to taste the piece we hold in our hand.

Everybody could write poetry

but few take the time to taste life

afraid to waste time

afraid of finding out what we’ve given up.

Everybody could write poetry

and I won’t leave it to the so-called professionals, self-proclaimed experts

to find out what life tastes like

to define what is art and beauty.

I will write poetry again.

——————————————————————————————————–

This (or better the first few lines) came into my head while I was in bed with a spell of migraine-ish headache this evening. I can’t find anything good to write about for weeks, and then it comes to me while my head is throbbing and I don’t want to move or stare at a glowing computer screen … life is weird. Seriously.

You can also find this on my deviantART account:

http://kayanya.deviantart.com/art/Everybody-could-write-poetry-376503587?ga_submit_new=10%253A1370636563